Wake Up And Run For Your Life With Me
by Sunshinecackle
Summary: Henry didn't know where else to go.


**Title:** Wake Up And Run For Your Life With Me  
 **Author:** Donnie  
 **Fandom:** IT  
 **Setting:** Derry, Patrick's House  
 **Pairing:** Patrick Hockstetter/Henry Bowers  
 **Characters:** Patrick Hockstetter, Henry Bowers, Butch Bowers  
 **Genre:** Romance/Hurt/Comfort  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Chapters:** 1/1  
 **Word Count:** 1404  
 **Type of Work:** One-Shot  
 **Status:** Complete  
 **Warnings:** Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Child Abuse, Gore, Nudity, Slight Sexual Content, Patrick being Patrick  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.  
 **Summary:** Henry didn't know where else to go.

 **AN:** So, here's a gift for my good bud Evan! I wish I would have been able to finish this sooner but maybe it'll be good when you get a chance to see it. ; u; I hope you guys enjoy!

 **Wake Up And Run For Your Life With Me** ****

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Henry hadn't known what else to do.

Rocks and sticks cut into the bottoms of his feet, and more than once he'd been slammed in the face with stray branches. This didn't stop him, however, as he ran blind through the woods, cutting through a spot he knew would spit him out a few blocks shy of Patrick's house. Blood filled his mouth and he spat again, for what felt like the umpteenth time, but at least it wasn't as embarrassing as the thought of crying with a swollen eye. Not that crying without one was all that great, either.

Rounding the edge of the wood, Henry broke into a dead sprint down the sidewalk, the gravel suddenly so much less of a problem for his bare feet. He could hear a gunshot behind him, no doubt some fucked up probing on his father's side, and it took everything he had not to look back. If he looked back, he would break, and he would be caught.

Scrambling up the drainpipe wasn't the best of decisions at any level of health, but when you were already tired and injured, it was probably the last thing that should be on your list. It didn't stop Henry from slapping his flat palm against the window to Patrick's room, smearing blood thin and pink against the glass. The second slap roused the ravenet from whatever he'd been busy doing at his desk - If Henry was honest, he didn't quite want to know - and had him on his feet.

"What the fuck are you doing out-" Patrick started, pushing the window open with a frown before his entire face went blank. It wasn't often Henry came to _him_ for comfort, because even he knew about as much about emotions as a shoe. Vic was usually their go-to when it came to that kind of thing. Of course, that didn't stop the swell of pride in his chest as he grabbed Henry by the belt loops and hoisted him into his bedroom.

"Okay, okay. Fuck. Henry what the fuck?" Patrick finally asked, both teens breathless on the bedroom floor. Henry was lying on his face, while Patrick was sprawled on his back, and he rolled over when it looked like he wasn't going to get an answer. Most times he would not exactly go this far with Henry when he was having a hard time finding humor in things, but there was a strange draw in his chest to press his lips to Henry's cheek.

Sniffling and feeling his tears hotter than the blood all over him, Henry turned his face to press his cheek into the rug beneath him. Those beautiful aquamarine eyes sparkling with tears stunned Patrick into silence, and, finally, Henry managed to find his voice.

"My- My dad." He croaked, clearing his throat and shaking his head. Carefully, he pressed his palms to the floor and hissed as he tried to sit up. Everything hurt, and he suddenly decided that being stuck in a t-shirt and his boxers right now was almost as uncomfortable as all of the scrapes he had suffered. Patrick's face melted and he sighed a little, carefully pulling Henry into his chest.

"Let's get you cleaned up, alright? We'll get you some clothes and you can stay here tonight." It wasn't like he was going to ask his parents, they would have let him cover himself in peanut butter and have a fifteen hooker gang bang. Having Henry over for the night was like asking to breathe.

Henry just gave a small, almost unnoticeable nod and closed his eyes as Patrick hefted him up by the armpits. Stumbling on his sore feet, he was glad when the taller teen caught and held him for a few moments. A hand pet through his hair and he felt the last of the tension seeping out of him as he was pulled up under the other's arm. Helping Henry to the bathroom, Patrick practically put him up on the counter and started to tug at his shirt.

A hand shot out to stop him, but Patrick was quietly determined to see the lengths to which Butch had abused Henry before he could get away.

"Come on, Hen, it's going to be okay." He cooed, looking into those unfocused, hurt eyes. Carefully, Henry unwrapped his hand from Patrick's wrist and let the shirt come up over his head. Pulling the one-time white shirt off of the other's body, he whistled low and soft. Henry was always so shy with his body, and while some part of Patrick knew it was because of how many scars he was covered in, he didn't entirely understand why. They made him look learned, wise, maybe a bit intimidating, and that was what always struck him.

"Stop staring." Henry muttered finally, looking down.

"Sorry." Patrick wasn't, but the sentiment was appreciated, at least. Surprisingly gentle hands worked over his shoulders and down his arms, and he carefully worked off the leather cuff on the right wrist. When he got to the bandana, however, Henry was staring at him like he might just swallow him whole if he dared. "I'm getting you cleaned up, I'm not judging you, Henry, Jesus."

"I…" It wasn't like he took off his cuff or bandana often, and it always made him feel more naked than he did wearing nothing and those two pieces of himself. Watching as they were both carefully placed beside him on the counter, Patrick slapped his thighs as gently as he could make himself.

"Alright, down you go. Get in the shower." Patrick helped him back down onto his feet, and also went the extra mile to tug his boxers off. Slapping his ass playfully to get him moving, he watched Henry step over the edge of the tub.

When the stream came down over him, Henry's eyes closed and he reached for the curtain, tugging it closed only for a hand to stop him. Blinking twice, he looked over as Patrick moved to join him.

"Patrick, I can shower by myse-"

Pressing a finger to Henry's lips, Patrick shook his head.

"Don't. I'm going to help you get your wounds clean. No funny business, unless you _want_ funny business." Winking playfully, he dropped the leer a second later to smile at him instead. 'If looks could kill' didn't begin to cover the way Henry was looking at him. The tears in his eyes, still threatening to fall after all this time, reminded him of something Vic had once told him. _It's impolite to have a boner around a crying person._ "Okay, okay, that look alone is loud and clear. Just cleaning." Holding up his hands in a vague 'truce' gesture, he bent to grab his black sponge pouf and soap.

"Yeah, just cleaning." Henry couldn't have had a sexual thought in his head with just how much pain he was in, and watching the pink draining off of him made him feel almost faint. Patrick's hands were a shock, feeling them gently working over a few sharp slashes into his shoulderblades. He was likely working the blood clots loose, but at this point, Henry couldn't so much care. It felt oddly good.

Henry's eyes slid shut as the pair of them helped work the scalding water into his tired muscles. Working the shampoo into his shorter friend's hair, Patrick massaged his scalp, glorifying in the way his friend settled into him.

"That feel better, Hens?" Patrick whispered softly against his ear, and his eyes popped open again.

"Yeah, that… Feels good." He murmured softly, eyelids drooping once more as he rest back against Patrick's chest, his legs finally giving out on him. Dropping to the bottom of the shower, he curled against the protective arms around his chest. It felt better to get off of his aching, bloody feet, and as his head hung limp, his eyes heavy and his body uncomfortable no matter what he did, he found his world falling into blackness.

Like he had promised, Patrick managed to clean Henry up, dress his wounds, and get him into some clothes. While Henry slept off his post-adrenaline crash, Patrick pinned four more butterflies to their new homes, watching them quiver as they died. A quick look at Henry drew him in, and he finally turned off his light and crawled into bed.

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 **AN:** And there we go! A gift for a good friend, and some more good PatHen, I hope. xD I'm actually happy with this, I hope you guys enjoyed!


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